


These Small Hours

by Daelinia



Category: Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5832631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daelinia/pseuds/Daelinia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A grouping of snippets, moments in the lives of various characters from Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let it shine until you feel it all around you

Natalie Chase brushed a dirty glove across her cheek, leaving a smudge of soil there that she refused to wipe away- at least for now. She pushed her trowel back into the dirt, setting aside the pile of it she pulled out, and grabbing for the plant she was about to transplant. 

 

Their tiny apartment may not have been much, but Natalie tried to keep it alive with window boxes and raised beds out on the patio, growing everything from herbs to vegetables to succulents. The summer sun peeked out from between the clouds and for just a moment, she indulged the warmth and light it provided, thinking of that beautiful day when she had met Him.

 

“Mama?”

 

Magnus was all chubby baby cheeks and soft hair and big gray eyes. She had never met anything more precious in her life, and she pulled off her gloves as he walked through the open door to the patio. His hair was mussed- fuzzy and tangled in the back, and he rubbed sleep from his eyes as she swept him into her arms, “Hey honey, have a good nap?”

 

The not-quite-five year old nodded, allowing her to hold him close for a moment before pulling away just a bit, “Mama. How come I don't have a Daddy?”

 

Natalie’s heart seized in her chest, but she was careful not to let it play out on her features. There were so many things that she wanted to tell him- about how she had met his father out hiking in the woods,  and how warm and vibrant and beautiful he had been. About how she had loved him so immediately and perfectly that she could not imagine ever wanting to change even a moment of the short time they had had together. 

 

About how his father was alive and well, here with them in every summer day like this one, every hiking trip they took. How he rested in their tent as they camped by the mountainside. How he guided their hands as they made fires and tied knots and learned how to survive. But he was still so very small, and she knew he was not yet ready to know it all.

 

She pulled him close again, managing a wobbly smile, “Oh, Magnus. You do have a daddy,” she said, “He is with us here, in our hearts.” she pressed her fingers gently to his tiny chest, marveling at how slim he was, how no matter how much he ate, no matter the baby fat still hanging in his face and thighs, she could always feel his ribs even through his shirt when she held him. He would be so small and lean, even when he grew big, she supposed. 

 

And not for the first time, she was struck with thoughts of just how difficult his life had already been. She wondered what more her poor, sweet baby would go through in his life, and hoped that whatever might happen that he would carve his own sense of peace and happiness into the world. He was growing bigger every day- it felt like only moments ago Magnus had been a tiny, snuggly ball curled up in her arms.

 

“I wish he was here for real.”

 

Natalie ran her fingers through the corn silk strands of his hair, a soft smile on her face, “I know, honey-” she began, but Magnus interrupted her, “I had a dream about him. He was really nice. I wish I could see him.”

 

Tears formed in her eyes against her will, and the woman pulled her child into her arms once more, kissing the top of his head, “Why don't we go for a hike?” she asked softly, “I think there are still a few trails left at the Nature Center we haven't explored.”

 

She needed to be close to his father too, to share this with him. As she ushered her son inside, gathering up their backpacks and filling their water bottles, she spared one more glance at the summer sun and knew that he'd be there.

 

“I love you, mama.”

 

“I love you too, honey.”


	2. Remember How It Feels

“I am just going for a run, Bibi,” Samirah tried really, really hard not to roll her eyes. She loved her grandparents more than anyone alive, but sometimes...Sometimes it was hard to breathe in this house. She owed them everything for what they had done, taking her in as they had.

She knew they were concerned for her well being. And under other circumstances, maybe their concerns would be more valid. But she was a warrior, a Valkyrie, and more than capable of taking care of herself.

And aside from that...she not only wanted, but needed to fly. The need sat there, under her skin, day after day. She could feel her blood humming a melody to the wind, her body begging for the divine release that only flight could grant her.

She sat in class, day after day, tapping her pencil to dull the need. Counting down minutes and seconds and hours until she could get away and feel the air rushing over her skin. She had dreamed of being a pilot one day, only because she had never even dared to dream she could truly -fly-.

And sure, she'd still become a pilot. And she'd still lead a somewhat normal life flying planes and marrying Amir and whatever else came her way. One day, things would get complicated, balancing her mortal life and her duties as a Valkyrie.

But for now, she closed the door behind her, having reassured her grandparents that she would be -fine- and then...she let the feeling overwhelm her as she took to the skies.


	3. Let Your Clarity Define You

Let Your Clarity Define You

 

The thunk of her sword into clavicle of the practice dummy was satisfying in a way she’d never before imagined. She spins around, slicing across its back, then shifts her feet again to swipe at its knees. Pause, swing, pause, breath, pause, swing. The give and take rhythm of practicing forms had quickly become the forceful savagery of hacking away at the dummy’s minimal defenses. Once Mallory Keen got her blood rushing, there was no stopping her. 

 

Practicing like this, keeping her body occupied, set her mind at ease. Emotions that had been rolling around in her stomach since waking up from her death that morning settled into the back of her mind, letting her find peace, calm, clarity. 

 

She was not worthless. She was strong. She was not intimidated. She was fearless. She was capable. She was smart. She was damn well going to kick the snot out of Halfborn Gunderson for making her feel so off-balance. Why was it that when she looked at him on the field, watched his axes flying through the air, she felt the blood rushing to her cheeks? She was a -warrior-. 

 

The head of the dummy hit the ground in a heavy ‘thunk’, and Mallory rested her hands on her sword as she plunged it into the ground, panting heavily. She wasn’t any one thing. She was a warrior, yes. But she was also a daughter, a friend, a shield-sister. She was a person, and every person was a complex creature- a patchwork cacophony of personalities and wants and experiences. 

 

She couldn’t let herself be limited by just one word, defined only by her strength on the battlefield. She’d be killing her -self- slowly if she gave into that temptation. It was hard enough to separate her life from her death- she spent most of her days dying or training or fighting and all the hours seemed to melt into one another. Time moved differently here in Valhalla, but not in a conventional sense. In the sense that every day felt like a thousand, but every decade passed in a blink of an eye. 

 

She wiped the sweat from her brow, sheathing her sword and retrieving the dummy head. Housekeeping would fix it when they came to clean up her room later. She’d stolen the thing a long time ago- a year or five or ten, she wasn’t sure any more because it didn’t really matter. She liked using it here, where the sunlight speckled her shoulders while she worked out her frustrations. 

 

Setting her sword in its proper spot on her wall, she sat heavily on the ugly floral printed couch that somebody had copied from her childhood house when she’d died and come here. She had always hated the couch, back in Midgard, but here...it smelled like home. Grabbing a cushion, she sniffed it deeply, remembering lavender and turpentine, paint and clay and a thousand different kinds of shampoo. 

 

She liked Halfborn Gunderson. Fuck. 

The pillow muffled her scream of rage and indignation. She didn’t have time to like anybody- and certainly not that giant, brave, hairy idiot. But she did, and she wasn’t going to deny it -at least not to -herself- any longer. She would own it, not let it get to her. Because she didn’t have any control over how she felt, but she wasn’t going to let it interfere with her life. She liked Halfborn, fine. She’d get through it. Maybe in time it’d just...go away. or maybe it’d just become a part of her, like every other frayed edge in the quilt that made up Mallory Keen. 

  
Only time would tell- she certainly wouldn’t.

 

Author's Note: Wow! It's been a while since I've posted anything. Weeks, I know. I got a really nasty sinus infection that had me down and out for over a week, and then I got caught up in something else. But, here I am again! If any of you are also following my other work, I should hopefully be able to finish the chapter I'm working on for that in the next few days, and then I'll be able to post the whole thing since the two chapters following it are already written. 

 

Thanks for reading, guys! 

**Author's Note:**

> I very clearly have a thing for lyric-based works. This series is going to be tied together with lyrics from Rob Thomas' Little Wonders. <3


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